A New Map of the World
by Dragonfly8716
Summary: Drake/Josh. Rated M for sex. Drake finds his way back to the things that he’s lost.


Drake calls it the torture chamber. He hates the weight equipment and the damn ramp—"steeper than ADA standard, sweetie, because real life has hills"—and the way every time he finally gets something right Angie says, "Now let's try something really hard." Josh says the inspirational posters remind him of high school, but Drake is pretty certain he never saw "Your most important sex organ is your brain" hanging on a wall at Belleview High.

They've finished working for the day, and he's just offered to bring a signed CD for Angie's daughter, when Josh bursts into the room.

"Angie, darling, you look marvelous," he says, twirling her around.

"Not half as fine as you, Josh, baby," she replies, grabbing his face and kissing him on both cheeks.

Drake is used to these little love-fests, but he is _not_ in the mood today, so he pouts, "Don't be nice to her. She tried to kill me."

Angie places her hand over her heart. "Not true, sweetie. I'm just helping you build big strong muscles so you can impress your handsome boyfriend." She winks at Josh, who eats it up.

Drake sighs dramatically and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Ready to go now?" asks Josh, finally paying attention to him.

"Yeah."

"Do you want me to push?"

Drake sort of does. "Nah, that's OK." He still remembers the lectures Angie used to give Josh on wheelchair etiquette before Drake sat her down and explained that Josh has never understood the concept of personal space and that's exactly how he likes it. She no longer says anything when Josh reaches over to fix Drake's collar or absent-mindedly strokes his hair or even leans against the chair, but Drake knows she'd have something to say if he let Josh do something he's perfectly capable of doing by himself.

Drake wheels down the corridor. He lets Josh chatter for a while about hospitals always having blue-gray walls and prints of flowers or abstract art. Why not coral or lime green? Why not fruit?

When he winds down, Drake says, "She made me practice transfers for over an hour today."

"Cruel and unusual punishment," says Josh with a smirk.

"My shoulders ache," says Drake, exaggerating the whine in his voice.

"I'll give you a massage later."

"Yeah, you will. She wouldn't have made me practice that long if someone hadn't mentioned that I landed on my butt in the shower the other day."

They pass through the automatic doors to the parking lot, and Josh says, "She just wants what's best for you."

"She's got a funny way of showing it."

"You know she likes you."

"She _loves_ you."

"She loves you, too."

"She loves you more."

"She loves you most."

It's the verbal equivalent of a slap fight, and Drake wonders why Josh is so keyed up. When they reach the car, Josh lifts Drake into his seat, which causes Drake to add "uncool van with a lift and hand-controls" to his mental shopping list for the sixth or seventh time.

"Buckle," says Josh, folding the wheelchair and stashing it behind the seat.

"I'm not a toddler."

"I never said you were," says Josh, and Drake wants to smack him for sounding so reasonable.

As they pull onto the freeway, a patch of sun settles over his face and arm. The car is warm, Josh is playing a less-than-awful station on the radio, and Drake can fall asleep anywhere these days. He's so drowsy that when they pass their exit, he doesn't ask why, but a few minutes later he has a thought that seems important enough to repeat, so he mumbles, "You said I have the attention span of a two-year old."

"What?"

"The last time I said you were treating me like a child, you said I had the attention span of a hyperactive two-year-old." Then he lets himself drift into sleep.

(((((((o)))))))

The rough brick of the driveway under the tires finally wakes him. They pull up in front of a large white clapboard house with two stories of green-shuttered windows. A ramp leads to a wraparound porch covered with tubs of geraniums and deliberately mismatched rocking chairs. It's so obviously Josh's idea of a romantic weekend getaway that Drake almost panics.

"So what do you think?" Josh bounces in his seat, grinning that sweet little-kid smile that didn't change even when the rest of him grew up.

Drake resolves to make the best of it. "Looks nice."

"Really? And isn't that the weirdest coincidence?" he says, pointing out the sign that Drake had missed.

It says, "Drake and Josh Inn." Drake is almost too relieved to be mad. Almost. Because doing this without asking him? Not cool. He tries to decide which snarky comment to make first. Honestly, all they need now are a few friendly dogs and a hot pool boy to complete the gay American dream, but Josh is squirming like a puppy and his eyes are desperate for approval, so Drake puts on his best happy smile and says, "Is this really ours?"

While Josh babbles excitedly, Drake almost dozes off again. He jerks his head upright and thinks that maybe Josh is right. With a body this uncooperative, maybe it really is a good idea to have a permanent home.

The front is standard bed-and-breakfast, cluttered with knickknacks and flowers and overstuffed loveseats, but once he rolls past the "private" sign and into the back of the house, it's all white walls and dark hardwood floors and leather couch and flat screen TV. It has the bare look of one of those magazine rooms with a single over-sized glass bowl displayed on an empty coffee table; but once he gets used to the style, he can see that it's just a version of their old room over the garage, done with a bigger budget and better taste.

Josh gives him a tour, pointing out the remote control window blinds and rows of double shelves mounted three feet off the ground and Drake's personal favorite, two drawers under the television that look like they should hold DVDs, but actually turn out to be the kind of refrigerated drawers some people install in high-end kitchens. The pièce de résistance—Josh's words, so Drake knows he's pretty proud of himself—is a rack at the perfect height, holding all of Drake's guitars.

Thinking about his career isn't quite as scary as thinking about sex, but it's still definitely on his list of things not to think about yet, so he does his fake happy smile again. He's good at this. One of the reasons his fans have always loved him is because he's so good at being approachable and nice, but it's a sign of how off-kilter the world is that Josh doesn't see right through him.

Drake holds out his arms and says, "Hug me, Joshie." He's expecting the awkward, crouched-over hug they've almost perfected, but Josh pulls him right out of his chair. He clings to Josh's neck as his legs dangle, and for a moment everything feels so normal that it almost makes him cry.

(((((((o)))))))

In his dreams, he doesn't feel any fear. He can see the SUV bearing down on his little red Mustang and feel the car skid sideways on impact, hear the crunch of metal on metal and his own voice, urgent and commanding, saying "Josh! Get me out. Now!" In the way dreams do, the scene changes to him performing a song he hasn't written yet, or Josh's mouth on his cock, or a party thrown by lobsters wearing tuxedos.

From the way Josh whimpers in his sleep, his dreams must be worse.

(((((((o)))))))

Josh's arm is draped over Drake's chest. Drake breathes slow and steady. After a few minutes, he mumbles "lime-aid" and "pumpkin patch." He makes sure to keep his breath slow and steady as he listens to Josh turn away and jerk off.

Hours later he wakes to Josh snoring against his side and drooling a little damp patch onto his shoulder. His neck is stiff, so he shifts into a more comfortable position on his pillow. Then he slides his hand down past his stomach searching for signs of life.

He's not ready to admit it to Josh, but he's spent hours online reading about T12s and L5s and the difference between partial and complete SCIs. He's searched the NIH website for clinical trials. He even e-mailed Mindy, figuring that since she was doing cancer research, she would have some kind of inside track. He hadn't realized quite how much hope he was pinning on his image of her as a genius mad scientist until he got her reply, which was straightforward and uncharacteristically kind. She told him that real world results were five to fifteen years in the future and her sincere advice was to live the life he had now as fully as he could.

His dick is soft and dormant, and gentle strokes do nothing to wake it up. Still, he's heard the mantra, "Every body is different," and read enough about partial recovery of sensation to think maybe he feels _something_.

Drake runs his fingertip experimentally over his hand, and what he feels at first is the more intense sensation of fingertip on palm. If he concentrates hard, he's able to focus on the feel of the skin sliding under his fingertip. When he reaches into his briefs again, shifting the focus away from his hand, all he can feel are memories.

(((((((o)))))))

They're careful with each other in a way that keeps winding something tighter and tighter inside Drake's chest. When he rolls into the kitchen and Josh says for the fourth time, "I shouldn't have moved you," he doesn't answer, "You didn't have any choice," because he doesn't want this to be their new routine. Instead, he gathers up the anger that he's worked so hard to keep below the surface and takes aim at Josh's guilt.

"Do you wish you'd been the one in the driver's seat?"

Josh's face crumples exactly the way Drake knew it would. He forces himself to look Josh in the eyes as he plunges on. "That's so stupid. I couldn't have gotten you out. I would have left you there. Would that be easier? Would you rather be dead than stuck with me like this?"

He knows he's shouting and clutching the arms of his chair tight enough that it hurts his fingers, but it takes the shocked look on Josh's face to bring him back to his body. His arms are locked and trembling, his butt is raised several inches off the seat, and his feet are resting uselessly on the floor. He shouldn't have been able to move this far forward without overbalancing, so he cautiously lowers his body before he falls.

And with absolute certainty, Drake knows faith healing and spontaneous nerve regrowth and advances in medical science are bullshit; because if belief and desire had anything to do with it, he and Josh would be wrestling on the floor right now.

Josh is still staring, stricken. "You would have left me?"

When Drake trusts his voice again, he says, "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Oh." Josh turns back to the counter.

Drake is exhausted, and he's not sure he has the right words to fix this. "It's OK to be pissed. At me or God or whoever. Because this really, really sucks. I just need you to stop playing what-if."

Josh doesn't answer, so Drake sits for a few minutes watching the tense muscles in Josh's back as he slices a melon. "I'm sorry. I'm going to leave. If it's all right with you, I'll come back in five minutes and we can pretend this whole conversation never happened." When Josh still doesn't answer, he takes it as a yes.

(((((((o)))))))

When Drake comes back, Josh has started a batch of pancakes.

Drake asks, "Can I help with anything?"

"Not really."

"Heard from anyone lately?"

Josh darts a quick glance his direction. "Mindy sends her love."

"I wish she'd stop feeling sorry for me. It creeps me out."

Drake sees a little smile tug at the corners of Josh's mouth. "I think she feels the same way. Her next sentence was, 'I'm still breastfeeding, so my concern for Drake may be maternal hormones run amuck.'"

"Ew. I did not need to hear that."

Drake pours some syrup on his plate. As Josh flips the last of the pancakes, Drake dips his finger in the syrup and traces a sticky trail across the tabletop. He's completing a figure eight when a damp washcloth lands next to his hand.

Josh says, "I changed my mind. You can help me clean the table." He sits down before continuing, "Dad mentioned Carol King the other day. I forgot to tell you."

"She's not really my style. Did he say why?"

"He seemed to think you'd know."

Josh knows. He might not have recognized the name, but Drake knows Josh well enough to know he would have Zaplooked it the second he was off the phone. Great. One more thing they're afraid to talk about. They haven't lied to each other this much since they were scared 17-year-old boys, each thinking the other one couldn't possibly want the same thing. So Drake lets a little anger seep into his voice. "He thinks I can't perform any more. He thinks I should write songs for someone else."

"How would you feel about that?" asks Josh. Drake notices the carefully neutral choice of words.

"It seems like asking a girl to go on a date with another guy."

"You did that for me more than once."

"You're special." That makes Josh light up for an instant, and Drake can feel his anger leaking away. God, he misses that smile.

Josh says in all seriousness, "There's some kid out there right now with skin-tight jeans and a drop-dead voice, doing Drake Parker and Zero Gravity covers, who would kill to record your songs."

"Just one?" he asks, trying to tease Josh into another smile.

"Hundreds," says Josh, smiling again. "And they're all madly in love with you."

"Even the ones that have girlfriends?"

"Especially the ones that have girlfriends."

Drake finishes his pancakes before saying, "So, you think I should write for someone else?"

"I think you should think about it."

Drake takes a second stack of pancakes. Josh has played with his, mostly eating melon, so Drake says, "You can eat all the junk food you want and stay perfectly healthy, but you lose five years off your life. Would you do it?"

"Nope. I like eating healthy."

"I'd give up five years of my life if I never had to eat your nasty fat-free turkey bacon again."

When Josh chucks a banana at his head, Drake can feel something start to unwind in his chest. The tightness isn't gone, but it feels a little easier to breathe.

(((((((o)))))))

He sits on the couch playing a song so deeply embedded in his memory that his fingers move by themselves. He's wondering if it's possible to play himself to sleep when Megan walks in with two black Labs. She unclips their leashes and they sit in tandem, still as statues except for the blur of tails.

"OK if I move this?" she asks, resting a hand on his chair.

He can't help thinking that she's going to leave him stranded, but he shrugs. "Just put it back exactly where you found it."

She unlocks the wheels without being told, slides the chair to one side and sits next to him on the couch. He would never dare mention it, but when she crosses her legs, the older brother in him wishes she'd wear longer skirts with her elegant little suits.

"They're not quite fully grown yet. You want some puppy-love?"

"Sure."

Megan touches his arm lightly and says, "Lucy, Sadie, come to mama."

Without warning there are paws on Drake's chest and exuberant puppy-tongues slobbering on his face.

"We can teach them not to do that if it bothers you."

He's so ridiculously happy stroking Lucy's smooth fur that it takes a second to register the "we."

"You want me to help train your dogs?"

"Your dogs. Early Christmas present." Her voice is clipped, and he can tell she's trying to head off anything as sloppy as gratitude. She studies his face for a few long seconds, and he's pretty sure she knows every question he wants to ask, so he just rubs the velvety flap of Sadie's ear with his thumb.

"I've already trained them, but I'm not leaving them here until I know they'll obey you."

"Megan," he whines.

"Drake," she says, in the tone she uses when he's being extra stupid. "You can't have a dog that jumps on you without permission. You can't have a dog that sleeps in your bed. Because?"

"Because if she sleeps on my leg and cuts off my circulation I won't feel it," he says, suddenly miserable.

"Good boy. I'll see you tomorrow." She places his chair within a millimeter of where he'd left it and locks the wheels.

She shows up in the late afternoons with bags full of dog treats. On day two, his arm is bruised because Megan pinches him every time he rewards the dogs too soon. On day five, they move from the back door to the kitchen door to the front porch until the dogs will come bounding in from any corner of the property at the first sound of his voice.

On day six, Josh finally has time to watch them practice. It's subtle—no bared teeth or low-throated growls—but Drake becomes more and more certain that Sadie and Lucy are repositioning themselves to stay between him and Josh. He looks to Megan for confirmation, and she raises an eyebrow. After a little thought, he commands, "Sit. Stay," and invites Josh over for a hug. When he says, "Come to papa," Sadie is all over him, but Lucy eagerly licks Josh's hand. Drake wonders if they have other hidden talents, like tearing out assailants' throats or rescuing boobish brothers from burning buildings, but he decides that it's better not to ask.

On day seven, she asks him to get on his bed. She watches intently as he transfers himself. The little furrow between her eyebrows makes him glad he's had enough practice to do it smoothly. They practice "come to papa" and "down" and "go to sleep" until she finally smiles and drops the leashes in his lap.

"Do you want to get back in your chair?" He does, and she watches impassively. "I like you better that way."

"What? Crippled?"

There's a flash of something, too brief for him to identify, and then her eyes are unreadable again. "I like you better in your chair, moron. You seem more independent. More in control."

"Love you, too, Megan." He doesn't mean for it to sound quite as sarcastic as it does, but a little flare of temper pushes him on. "I'm surprised you didn't name them Satan and Lucifer. It would fit your personality."

She glances over his shoulder and puts on her innocent face. "I did actually, but Josh wouldn't like that, so let's keep it our little secret."

Drake feels a hand on his shoulder, and Josh asks, "What wouldn't I like?"

"Your boob of a brother thinks that you only love him for his body. He's worried that you'll leave him for someone else." She leaves Drake to deny and Josh to reassure, and Drake is really pissed that even when Megan is lying, she's almost always right.

(((((((o)))))))

Josh makes sure the sheets are stretched taut and wrinkle-free. It's one of his new rituals, born of a comment Angie made about pressure sores. It doesn't really bother Drake, and it seems to give Josh a sense of control.

When they're finally settled in bed, Drake says, "Josh?"

"Yeah."

He almost chickens out and says an easy "I love you," but he's already done that too many times.

"I miss sex."

Josh props himself up on his elbow. "Me, too."

"I know." Drake closes his eyes because Josh is looking at him with a wistful longing that makes him want to run away. "I'm sorry. I've been scared."

"Don't be."

He feels Josh cup his cheek and brush a thumb across his bottom lip. He tenses in anticipation of a kiss, but Josh strokes his hair as innocently as he might comfort a sick child. The fingertips running over Drake's scalp are the most intimate touch he's felt in months.

When he opens his eyes again, Josh's eyes are full of desire. Drake gives his shoulder a gentle shove, and Josh falls obediently back on the bed. As Drake rolls towards Josh, his torso twists, dragged down by the deadweight of his legs. Josh runs a hand down his side, over his hip, past feeling, and Drake feels his body realign. Josh tucks his pillow behind Drake's legs.

"Better?"

Josh is solicitous and tender, even though his eyes are still dark with lust, and suddenly Drake can see how ludicrous it all is, how funny this scene might be if the universe had pulled this prank on someone else.

Drake grins. "I never thought we'd be having a threesome with Mr. Puff-Puff."

Somehow that's the permission Josh needs. He tangles his hands through Drake's hair and presses desperate kisses against his lips. Drake's hands and mouth fall into old rhythms, and he and Josh kiss with a sweet intensity that they've lost in recent years. Drake has just realized that he could live on slow, deep kisses forever when he feels Josh's body arch.

Josh's hands tug at his T-shirt, and Drake forces his body not to tense. He leans up to whisper, "You first," in Josh's ear, deliberately breathing against his neck. After Josh takes off his shirt, Drake kisses a line down to the hollow of his throat, while his hand trails down his chest. When he brushes a hand over Josh's erection and murmurs, "Those, too," it's comical how quickly Josh strips his boxers off.

Drake takes Josh's cock in his hand and rubs his thumb in circles over the slick head until Josh whimpers. Drake covers Josh's mouth with his own, sucking his tongue while making long, firm strokes with his hand. He matches his rhythm to Josh's breathing until it breaks down in ragged gasps and Josh's cock pulses against his hand.

"That was amazing," Josh says, kissing him lightly on the mouth. Drake knows it wasn't. It's the kind of sex they used to have when they'd both had a long day and just needed a little physical contact before falling asleep. But Josh wasn't exactly lying either. Maybe it would be more accurate to say it was desperately needed.

Josh wipes his belly off with his T-shirt while Drake tugs the pillow out from behind his legs and rolls onto his back. Josh props himself up on his elbow again. He watches Drake's face for a while before asking, "What about you?"

Drake has thought about this because he knew Josh would ask. Josh is good at guilt. "I think you need it more than I do. I think maybe we're not wired the same. Do you remember all those girls in high school?"

"Who could forget?" asks Josh wryly.

"Sometimes I got off and sometimes I didn't. I never pushed a girl further than she wanted to go. I never called a girl a tease. I think it's one of the reasons they all liked me so much."

Josh is confused. "So you don't want…?"

"Of course, I _want_. Everybody _wants_. But if this is all I can have, I think it will be enough."

(((((((o)))))))

On the days when he doesn't have physical therapy, Drake spends the afternoon on the porch. Lucy plays catch by the hour, as if she knows he's got nothing better to do than throw a soggy tennis ball into the landscaping. Sadie sits with her chin on his knee, gazing at him with adoring eyes while he scratches—_yes, there, _thumps her tail—the itchy spot under her collar.

Whenever a guest arrives, he offers his hand like a dare. He learns that if he turns his charm up to full volume, people's eyes stop sliding past his face, and that if he can make someone laugh, they might not shy away when he casually touches their arm.

(((((((o)))))))

In the beginning, he'd seen his mom constantly. She'd been at the hospital every day, dry-eyed and optimistic. He and Josh had even moved back home for a while—Drake camping out on the first floor in the early days of constant therapy and follow-up appointments, while Josh slept in their old room upstairs. Later she'd come out to the inn, making shopping runs and helping Josh book reservations and hire staff.

So it's not until everything settles into a new sort of normal that three weeks slip by without seeing her. It's not until she drives up for the weekend and her eyes are looking everywhere but his face that Drake thinks maybe she's been avoiding him. It not until he corners Josh in the kitchen that he finds out just how often she's been crying on the phone.

After dinner and a few pointed hints, Josh says, "I'm going to make some of my world famous brownies. Mom, I think you should hear the new song Drake's been working on."

They head back to the apartment, and an instinct for staging causes Drake to move to the couch. As he tunes his guitar, he can actually feel her not looking at him. The anger starts building—and isn't he sick to death of that particular emotion?—so carefully setting his guitar on the floor, he says, "Come give me a hug."

"Oh, baby." She hugs him tightly. It's not something they do much, except at funerals and airports, but even to his unpracticed arms, she feels small and thin.

She draws back to arms length and says, "You look like you've lost weight."

"Nah," he says, striking a weightlifter's pose. "I've been working out." He pats the couch. "Come sit down and tell me about work."

"Same old, same old," she says, sitting next to him. "Lots of office politics and rumors about lay-offs. How about you?"

"What do you mean?" She knows he hasn't worked since before the accident.

"Josh said you were working on a new song."

"I'm not sure. I've been fooling around a little bit, but anything I do right now is going to be really, really different. Instrumental. I'm can't seem to write lyrics."

"Does it matter?"

_Yeah. A lot._ "I don't know. All Josh will tell me is that we're not in debt, so we're better off than most people in their early thirties."

"Good to know, but not exactly what I meant."

She's finally looking at him, little sideways glances that don't last long. Her eyes are shining, and he holds out his arms. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her in an awkward sideways hug.

"Oh, mom," he says, rubbing the tight muscles between her shoulder blades.

He hears her sniffle. Her shoulders tremble slightly, and for the first time tonight he's glad she's not looking him in the eye.

It feels as wrong as the time he'd discovered Josh sitting fully dressed on the toilet, with the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes. Drake had snuck away before Josh noticed him, but now he's trapped, so he holds on, patting his mom's back and waiting for her to pull herself together again.

Eventually she lifts her head and wipes her eyes. "Sorry," she says with a shaky laugh, "I've been doing that a lot lately."

"S'okay."

"Not really. Let's not sit here any longer." She watches him transfer himself with a resigned look on her face. "You're right, you know. It's easier to pretend everything's OK when you're not in a wheelchair. But that's not fair to you."

"It's just a tool. Like my guitar. It lets me do things I can't do by myself."

"When did you get so smart?"

"I always have been," he says, a little insulted that she looks so surprised. Then he gives her his best smile and says, "I heard a rumor that Josh might be making Fudgy-Boos. Do you want to race to the kitchen?"

(((((((o)))))))

Drake lies with his head in Josh's lap while Josh strokes his hair. He sighs contentedly. "We should do this more often."

"Watch Alton Brown sing the praises of eggplant?"

Drake smacks Josh on the arm. "No, you idiot, this," he says, waving his hand vaguely in the air.

"I think we should do this," says Josh, removing his hand from Drake's hair and sliding it under Drake's shirt.

Drake removes Josh's hand and shifts himself into a sitting position.

"How long?" asks Josh.

"How long what?" asks Drake, even though this argument isn't new.

"How long until you let me touch you again?"

"I don't know." _Never_, he thinks. He just doesn't have the words to tell Josh that he's ashamed, that as long as Josh doesn't actually touch him they can pretend it's just Drake being stubborn and not the end of life as they know it. "Don't over-think this, OK? I don't want you to leave. But if you were with someone else, you could do things that you can't do with me."

"I know that, you idiot. But I still want you." This is where they've always left it. But tonight Josh stands up and scoops Drake off the couch. He carries Drake like a bride and actually tosses him onto the bed. Drake pushes up on his elbows just as Josh straddles him, pushing him back down and attacking his mouth. Drake can feel tension building in his stomach, even though it's not connected to anything anymore.

"Let's do this," Josh begs. Drake hates it when he begs. Drake can plead and wheedle and whine all he wants, but Josh usually doesn't ask for something unless he thinks it's right, which makes Drake think he's right about this too.

Drake nods in submission. Josh takes charge again, tugging Drake's shirt over his head. Even though Drake doesn't help at all, Josh slides off his sweatpants with a lot less effort than the tight jeans he used to wear. He holds Drake's gaze while he pulls off his own clothes, and that helps Drake feel a little less exposed.

They start to kiss, and naked kissing is never bad, even though Drake misses the feel of Josh's hard-on against his thigh.

Josh's hands roam down Drake's body, falling into a lazy, comfortable routine. He traces Drake's hipbones with his fingertips and hesitates. Then his hand dips down and disappears, and for a moment Drake is bereft. He props himself up on elbows to see where Josh has gone. He's right there with a hand on Drake's leg, looking as lost as Drake feels.

Josh asks shyly, "Is it OK if I touch you?"

Drake shrugs. "I won't feel anything, but it's OK if you're curious."

Josh strokes Drake's cock, and Drake can't help thinking it must feel like petting a slug. Josh's hand moves back to Drake's stomach, stroking and teasing, and Drake almost shudders with relief.

Josh says quietly, "I just don't want some invisible line I'm not allowed to cross."

That's something Drake can understand. In bed, Josh has always been passionate groping hands and desperate searching kisses. Drake loves that lack of control. In spite of everything he can't have, that's still what he wants.

"Joshie," he says softly, not sure he wants to be heard.

"Yeah?"

"This really can't get more embarrassing, so I'm just going to say it. There might not be anything going on down there, but I'm really turned on in my head." His voice gets softer still. "I want to go down on you. Help me figure it out."

"Figure what out?" Josh climbs back up his body, stroking his face, stroking his chest, letting Drake know he's there.

"If I'm flat on my back and you sit on my face—"

"You might feel like you're going to suffocate."

"Yeah," he agrees, relieved he doesn't have to explain. "I could get down between your legs, and I'd be fine until my arms give out, but I'd be kind of stranded there."

Josh is serious and thoughtful, and Drake has decided that he's willing to spend the rest of his life giving hand jobs because all this thinking and talking and admitting things have changed is killing the mood, when Josh says, "Is it OK if I move you?"

"Sure."

Josh hooks his hands under Drake's armpits and hoists him up against the headboard. He crawls into Drake's lap, hunching down to fit his mouth against Drake's. Josh nibbles his lower lip, and then their tongues slide against each other until Drake can feel the desire rising again, in his stomach and in his head. He tugs gently at Josh's hair, and Josh presses his body up against Drake. Finally he can feel Josh's cock, thick and hard against his stomach. Josh's neck is at the perfect angle to lick and nibble and suck. When Josh moans, Drake nudges his shoulder, and Josh kneels in front of him, knees planted on either side of his legs, hands braced against the headboard.

Drake feels a little uncoordinated at first because he still can't move as freely as he wants, but he digs his fingers into Josh's hips and moves him where he needs him to be. And then he knows it's going to work because he's always been good at this, and he wants it more than he ever thought he would again. As he takes Josh's cock in his mouth, all he can think is that it's been so long, too long, what an idiot he's been. He circles and strokes and teases with his tongue, wanting to taste every inch. The only thing better is watching Josh's face as he comes.

Josh collapses next to him on the bed and says, "I missed you so much."

Drake drags his hips down the bed and lets himself fall onto Josh's mouth. They let themselves kiss for a few minutes before Josh sits up to rearrange the tangle Drake has made of his legs. Then he's back, stroking Drake's face and chest. He runs his hand down Drake's back, and it strays off the map but quickly reappears. Josh looks at Drake with frustration in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says almost angrily. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Kiss me. Talk dirty to me. Touch me where I can feel it."

Drake can see that Josh is lost again. None of the familiar paths end where they used to. But now that Josh has gotten them this far, Drake can get them home.


End file.
